Day 17 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Your character is punished in a weird/funny way.
Shannon: “The only way we are ever going to go to breakfast tomorrow is if we have some kind of repercussion when we don’t want to get up,” Charlotte determined as I was climbing into my loft for the night.
“Yeah, but what repercussion can overcome morning brain?” The promise of a blanket’s warmth was my weakness whenever our alarms would go off and Charlotte would question if we were going or not. Then we’d get into a charade of “if you want to” and “I don’t care” and eventually fall back asleep.
“Ooo I’ve got an idea. How about whoever gets up first gets to slap the person who is still sleeping in the face,” she suggested and then giggled maniacally.
Even though it was dark I felt the need to lift my upper body to rest on my elbows and look over to her. It sounded like the worst possible way to wake up, but definitely effective. “Are you serious?”
“It will work, won’t it?”
“I mean yeah,” I agreed with a laugh, “But I’m terrified. How am I supposed to sleep?”
“You only lose if you fall back asleep. It’s not like I’m going to quietly wake up and slap you in the face. It’s only fair. Are you in?”
“Mmm,” I hummed. “Ok I’m in.”
“Still want to get breakfast or do you want to go back to sleep,” Charlotte questioned.
“Are you going to slap me in the face if I go back to sleep?”
She paused, “No, I never honestly thought I could bring myself to do it anyway.”
“Ahhh, I think I’d rather sleep,” I decided, feeling less pressure to stay awake.
“Ok,” she yawned and that’s the last thing I remember before dozing off again.
Whack. I woke up to a sharp pain in my cheek, and saw Charlotte standing over my bed. “Ha ha, you lose.”
“Hey,” I rubbed my faced. “You said you wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know me at all,” she shook her head. “But hey, on the bright side we finally get a good breakfast,” she shrugged.
Erin: My mother has always been a fan of cruel and unusual punishment. In her defense, I have always been prone to cruel and unusual behavior. The punishment always fit the crime, to a terrifying degree. The first time I stole I had to anti-steal, and no, not give to charity like one would assume. I had to sneak my belongings into stores and leave them on the shelves, where they would most likely be forgotten or thrown out. It made the punishment that much worse.
The time my mother deemed a skirt inappropriate that I then wore the next day to school was a start of a long two months and the first ever double whammy. First, I had to go to church in it to be judged by God and Pastor Nicole. The following months I had to let my mother dress me. My mom had bad taste when she was happy. Angry mom would do great in outfitting haunted house workers. She even bought me some new clothing, so I would have a turtleneck appropriate for the 111-degree weather. I still cringe when I see my polka dot top, knowing I had once worn it with plaid pants.
When I spent the night with my boyfriend she kicked me out and said I would have to act like an adult if I thought I was one. Crashing in his house ended my relationship with that boy. I don’t know if mom knew back then we couldn’t make it if we got too close. I may have just pushed her past her limit. I used to think my mom was a little nuts, and now looking back as an adult I know she’s nuts. But then again, here I am putting a parental lock on every TV channel other than the learning one, so I have no place to judge. But I mean, I turned out okay, right?
How you get people to behave does not always involve behaving yourself… think on that, and think on this, and write on this!